


I Who Only Love You

by talesofsuspense



Series: Happy Steve Bingo 2019 [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anniversary, Cooking, Fluff, Italian Tony Stark, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 06:57:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20887982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talesofsuspense/pseuds/talesofsuspense
Summary: Steve’s sick on their anniversary, but Tony is adaptable.





	I Who Only Love You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [danyslemons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/danyslemons/gifts).

> For the square “Serenade” on my Happy Steve Bingo card.
> 
> There’s no real reason for this being a sick fic other than I want more fics where Steve is the one who is sick and Tony takes care of him (which is obviously hard to come by when it’s not an AU).
> 
> Thank you to Emilia for the idea of Tony serenading Steve in Italian, and for the song recommendation. I hope you like this!!

Tony hummed to himself in the kitchen, swaying his hips gently to the jazz music he had JARVIS play while he cooked. He could hear Steve watching Family Feud in their bedroom. No matter how much he claimed to just leave it on for the noise, Tony always caught him laughing at ridiculous answers, tossing his own out the TV like Steve Harvey could hear him through the screen. He smiled fondly to himself when he heard Steve’s voice yell out “Books!” and then a softer “I told you” when the board let out its familiar bell to signify a correct answer. 

It was their anniversary tonight. Tony had an expensive dinner outing and then a walk through the botanical gardens planned, but well, he was nothing if not flexible. At least when it came to Steve. 

Steve was sick. He’d caught some sort of specially designed superbug when they raided an AIM lab yesterday, Steve heading in first and getting doused with the thankfully not fully complete concoction. He basically just had the symptoms of a regular cold, but it was enough that he’d been exhausted and weak, the engineered bug slowing his immune system, too. The doctors at SHIELD had all assured them that it should pass on its own within a few days, up to a week, and until then Steve should just treat it like any other normal person would treat a cold: plenty of rest and hydration. Tony laughed softly to himself, grabbing the strainer and an extra bowl to pour the noodles into, draining them with cool water and setting them aside with some olive oil sprinkled over them. Steve hated it. Steve hated resting in general, made him feel like he wasn’t doing enough, but he was even more put out about it this time. He felt guilty, he’d told Tony as much, about making Tony have to cancel their anniversary plans. No matter how many times Tony had told him it was fine — because it  _ was _ , Tony was more than happy to spend their anniversary at home together, though he wished Steve wasn’t feeling under the weather — Steve still had that kicked puppy dog look on his face. 

Tony had resolved to cheer Steve up at all costs, so he’d told him he was cooking them dinner and pressed a kiss to his warm and sweaty forehead before padding out to the kitchen. Now he was here, waiting for the mirepoix, broth, shredded chicken, bay leaves, and lemon juice to finish simmering so he could combine it all with the noodles. He was no master chef by any means, but this was a recipe his mother had taught him when he was a kid, and it had stuck with him. He’d even made the broth himself, preparing it last night when Steve had passed out with one last weak sniffle and a dose of NyQuil (NyQuil! Tony would’ve rejoiced at the normalness of it all if it weren’t at the expense of Steve’s comfort) at 8pm. 

“Whatever you’re making, it smells really good,” Steve called out, projecting his voice as much as he could. Tony winced a little, catching the lingering raspiness that they couldn’t get rid of with packs of Halls cough drops and any combination of DayQuil and NyQuil. Still, he smiled at Steve’s comment. He hadn’t been eating much, claiming his appetite was lacking. Tony didn’t doubt it, he never felt much like eating himself when he got sick, which was surprisingly often when he was younger. If he could get Steve to eat a full bowl he’d count it as a win.

“That’s because it  _ is _ really good, honey,” Tony called back, grinning into the simmering pot. He checked his watch. It’s been about 28 minutes, which should be enough. It really did smell good, and he couldn’t help but waft the scent towards him, the ridiculous image of that cartoon rat from the movie Steve had forced him to watch (“the animation is really good, Tony”) popping into his mind. He shook his head to himself, turning the stove off. He grabbed two bowls down from the cupboard, sliding the tray over from the left and putting the bowls onto it, he ladled the soup into the bowls, sniffing obnoxiously as he did. The smell reminded him of home, of good night, of his mother, of  _ love _ . It was the perfect thing to serve Steve. Really, what was more romantic than home cooked chicken noodle soup served to the love of his life in bed? Runny noses, sore throats, and achy muscles aside, this beat even the most expensive of wines. He topped it off with some chopped parsley and two cups of tea on the side, a little honey in Steve’s. 

“JARVIS, turn down the volume on the TV in our room,” Tony said, balancing the tray on his palms. He cleared his throat, feeling a little bit of nerves settle low in his stomach. He hadn’t sung in years, since he was a teenager sitting on the seat in front of the piano, fingers flowing across the keys next to his mother. When he heard the noise from TV lower he walked toward their room.

Steve was staring at him expectantly when he opened the door, grinning with flushed cheeks. Tony suppressed a wince at the pile of tissues that had grown exponentially since he’d left and grinned back. Even flushed with a light fever, a nose bright red from being scratched against endless tissues, and hair sticking up at odd angles, Steve was the most beautiful person Tony had ever seen. 

“C'è gente che ha avuto mille cose,   
tutto il bene, tutto il male del mondo. Io ho avuto solo te e non ti perderò, non ti lascerò per cercare nuove avventure,” Tony sang softly, maintaining eye contact with Steve as he walked slowly forward. His voice thankfully came out smooth, and the words came naturally, like this was something ingrained in him like the soup recipe had been. 

“Wow, are you serenading me?” Steve asked, eyes widening and looking suspiciously glassy. Tony couldn’t tell if that was from being sick or if he was genuinely moved from the song—and the soup. He shrugged with a small smile.

“C'è gente che ama mille cose e si perde per le strade del mondo. Io che amo solo te, io mi fermerò e ti regalerò quel che resta della mia gioventù,” Tony continued, setting the tray on the table next to Steve’s side of the bed, leaning over to brush his hair back from his damp forehead. Steve tilted his head up to look at him, his blue eyes looking bright and bold even in the lowlight of the room. “Io ho avuto solo te e non ti perderò, non ti lascerò per cercare nuove illusioni.”

He watched as Steve swallowed harshly and offered him a wobbly smile. Tony felt his heart swell looking at him. He was blinking now and Tony knew the glassy look in his eyes were tears. He swiped his thumb gently under Steve’s eyes, enough pressure that a tear gathered on the edge of his thumb. Steve sniffled and let out a shuddery laugh and Tony smiled when he met his eyes again.

“C'e' gente che ama mille cose e si perde per le strade del mondo. Io che amo solo te, io mi fermerò e ti regalerò quel che resta della mia gioventù,” Tony finished softly, letting his voice drag out until he quieted with a soft kiss to Steve’s forehead. “Happy Anniversary, my love.”

“Tony,” Steve croaked, voice sounding raspy and wet at the same time. Tony looked back at him as he grabbed his own bowl and cup and crawled onto the bed, setting the tea in the table next to his side and snuggling as close as he could to Steve through his nest of blankets. “You have a beautiful voice. What was that song?”

“Thank you sweetheart,” Tony said, beaming at him. He curled his free hand around the back of Steve’s neck, scratching gently at the short hairs there. “It’s called ‘I Who Only Love You’, my mother taught me it when I was a kid. She showed me this soup recipe too.”

“I love you,” Steve said, though he obediently grabbed his bowl of soup, scooping a spoonful into his mouth and letting out of a soft noise of pleasure. Tony grinned at him again, leaning over to press a kiss against his lips. “You’re going to get sick.”

“I love you too. And no I won’t, I take my zinc,” Tony said with a grin, stealing one more kiss before he returned to his own bowl. “Now eat your soup, sweetheart.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re interested [here](%E2%80%9C) are the lyrics to the song. Also, slightly less interesting, but I partially used [this](%E2%80%9C) recipe for the soup. While the song is obviously Italian, the soup less so. But so goes fic and my own laziness winning out over looking up Italian recipes. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! Thank you for reading!


End file.
